There are words in my head <br />in my limbs and my ears <br />there are some for the dead <br />and for those who can hear. <br />There's a flood simply waiting <br />to enlighten the masses <br />and the bold ones are mating <br />with the word middle classes. <br />I am swimming with sparks <br />and it matters a lot <br />as each letter leaves marks <br />and the airwaves run hot. <br />I pretend that I couldn't <br />really care what they say <br />but I know that I wouldn't <br />want to chase them away. <br />All you people please listen <br />to the words that want out <br />as the syllables glisten <br />and the consonants pout. <br />If you like the sensation <br />of a mellow bouquet <br />come and read my creation <br />and consider a stay <br />As a bird of one feather <br />I do welcome you, yes. <br />As together we weather <br />the critique from the press.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-my-attic-vii/
